The Little White Inn
by SKewedViEW
Summary: Cammie and Zach get caught in a Connecticut snowstorm and stop in a rundown inn. ONESHOT I wrote over the summer.


**A/N: Alright. I know. Where's the update of MOML but I promise I'm working on it, I'm just having some writers block with it. Never the less, I think I'm just going to scrap the beginning and start again because it's not working. Update this weekend?**

**On another note, I wrote this over the summer but remembered it the other day and decided to type it up. Farr from my best but hope you like it anyway. It hasn't been beta'd so feel free to point out any mistakes!**

**Disclaimer: If I own any of this, it's news to me…**

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November is a cold month for Connecticut. Being so far north it is often cold but this late November it happened to be below freezing. It had been 24 degrees Fahrenheit when Cameron Morgan last checked, and that was before the sun had gone down. She was bundled up tightly but every time she let her breath out a little puff of warm air would emit her mouth. Her nose was pink from the frigid air and she pulled her crossed arms closer to her chest in a fruitless attempt to keep herself warmer.

She walked beside a young man, about 17 as well. Neither spoke as they continued to move forward but it wasn't an awkward silence, it was more like they had both frozen and had lost the ability to speak but had gotten used to the idea. They seemed comfortable together, never the less, as was apparent by the way he nudged her. She smiled a tight, blue lipped smile and nudged him back, wondering, as she did, how it was possible that he didn't look as frozen as she was sure she did. She assumed that it was because he had been on the run longer than she and therefore his body was used to the colder weather while hers was used to sitting by a fireplace, reading a book on days like this.

They walked through the little town, taking in the rundown houses and the lack of people out. You could easily have attributed this to the cold weather but when you noticed the shattered windows it was hard to not be a little nervous. Cameron mentally shook herself thinking that if she survived this, she would certainly have to deal with worse. They were walking towards a rundown brick building that had been painted white in an attempt to make it look nicer. If they had succeeded, however, knowing how it looked before would give anyone nightmares.

The hotel was obviously low budget. It wasn't the type of place someone with more than fifty dollars would stay unless they had an ulterior motive. Their room service consisted of nothing but a bagel that was left outside your door on a paper plate and if you wanted any toppings on it, you had better have brought it yourself. Generally, the only people who actually eat it are those who have nothing else to eat. Those who do have a home where they can go to or five dollars that they can spend usually skip it and leave it outside for those who don't.

There are a few nice things that can be said about this hotel, though. First of all, it's cheap. Like, insanely cheap. It only costs 40 dollars to stay for the night, 60 if you book two nights. Secondly, it has been open for more than 60 years, and it has been the temporary home to many in need. This would include the _very_ occasional passerby who desperately needed to stop (though most choose to keep going, no matter how sleep deprived), teenagers around town who want a place to hook up, a safe haven for family members of extreme alcoholics, a hideout for criminals (since they never checked ID's), and, for the first time in the Little White Inn's history, two teenage spies who were hiding from an organization out to capture-slash-interrogate-slash-torture-slash-kill them. Also known as the Circle of Cavan, a.k.a. the C.O.C.

They arrived at 7:32 p.m. both with red noses though Zachary Goode's looked as though he had a cold while Cameron Morgan's closely resembled Rudolph's. They were both bundled up in winter coasts, scarves, boots, gloves, and jeans that proved they had been walking in a snowstorm for the past hour.

"Hey man," Zach greeted the gray haired guy at the front desk. "You got a room available for tonight?" The old man peered at them suspiciously, as though wondering why they were really here. Which, given all he had seen in his 72 years of life, wasn't that surprising. His right hand remained on his dark wooden cane as he hobbled over to get them a key. Cammie looked to her right and saw a pitch-black hallway, without so much as a little window to let the moonlight in. She was surprised that he didn't react to the cold breeze that had come in with them, noting that his clothes were mere tatters. Zach stood quietly next to Cammie as they watched the man come back towards them and then stumble on a piece of ice. Both Cam and Zach jumped forward to grab him but it was Cammie who stopped him, her reflex's apparently not affected by the cold.

"Thank you miss," he wheezed.

"No problem," she said a little shakily, unable to let herself forget how tiny, how breakable, his arm had felt as she had steadied him.

"You'll have to pay upfront," he told them, taking a step away and looking suspicious again.

"Of course," Zach muttered but got out his wallet and handed him two twenty's. The man inspected it and then nodded, satisfied, and handed them the room key.

"Room 28. It's in the basement, just go to your left and down the stairs. I can show you if you would like," he offered but they insisted they could find it on their own.

"Okay, seriously Zach, I get to pick the next hotel," Cam told him as they passed a pipe that was dripping onto the cement floor. But Zach ignored her as he stuck the room key in and turned it. Yes, it was a literal key. The hotel was family owned and the man upstairs, being the last alive in his family, was broke and out of date.

They stripped off their outer clothing as soon as they stepped inside the gray room though Cam had insisted on at least wearing her flip-flops after taking off her boots and wet socks.

"I really need to take a shower," she said while Zach took a seat on the old couch and propped his feet on the coffee table while he waited for the inevitable scream that followed. Half an hour later Cammie was sitting on Zach's lap, feeling only slightly better after changing clothes (_not_ in the disgusting bathroom that looked as though it hadn't been cleaned in twenty years,) and had pulled her brown hair into a loose ponytail. She remained un-showered but seemed more relaxed having gotten over the initial shock of things and reminding herself that she may have to stay in places like this when she got older and successfully joined the CIA. Her feet remained in her flip-flops that were safely off the cheap and stained carpet. Zach stayed where he had been before, leaning back and looking as relaxed as ever. The only difference being that his right arm now sat loosely around Cam's waist instead of having his fingers interlaced behind his head as he had before.

"Can I ask you something?" Cam asked, leaning back against him as he cracked on eye.

"Sure," he said while she absent-mindedly picked at her nails.

"Will you answer it?"

"Maybe." She sighed and shook her head.

"Never mind then."

"What is it?"

"It doesn't matter."

"If your trying to get me to promise I'll answer it it's not going to work," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear as the heat turned off, causing them both to groan. Cam pulled her cream colored, v-neck sweater over her hands and made a fist to keep it there. Zach wrapped both his arms around her as she began to shiver again.

"Please tell me Gallagher Girl."

"No, you won't answer it, and then I'll just be annoyed."

"I'll answer it if I can," he told her and she seemed surprised.

"Do you promise?" she asked and held out her right pinkie. He stared at her, amused.

"You seriously want me to pinkie promise?" she blushed a little but made him do it with his right hand—left hand doesn't count, she told him.

"If your mom's a part of the COC," she started, not missing his wince. "Wouldn't you have grown up thinking that the COC was good? I mean, wouldn't she have taught you that their way of seeing things was actually the right way? How did you come to see Mr. Solomon's side of things if you grew up with your mom?"

"That's three questions. I only okayed one," he told her, obviously stalling though she didn't call him on it. Instead she turned sideways so that she could see his face, being careful not to dislodge his arms.

"I have to answer don't I?" He half asked half groaned as she reluctantly placed her feet on the couch.

"Unless you want a broken pinkie," she said with a smirk. He absent-mindedly noted that it worked almost as well on her as it did on him.

"I'll take the broken pinkie then," he said and started to get up.

"Zach," she admonished and he sighed but sat back down knowing that she wouldn't rest until she got it out of him now that she had seen how much he didn't want to talk about it. She readjusted herself and then gave him her full attention even though he wished that she wasn't staring at him like that, like she had him cornered. Even though he knew that she did, that if there was anyone in the world that could get him to do and admit things that he didn't want to, it would be her.

"I have known about it my whole life," he started, looking down instead of at her. "But I guess I never really thought of it as good or bad, it was just kind of there. Until I went to Gallagher, even while I was there, it was just organization my mom belonged to. I knew she used to work for the CIA, I knew the she had left or more likely been burned, though I'm still not entirely sure, when I was eight.

"After that we moved form place to place. She taught me most of what I know about staying off the grid. I got to know the members but everything was always very secretive. I met Joe a few times and your dad once, when I was four. Not long after I went to Blackthorne you became one of their favorite subjects outside of the meetings. Anytime they stopped for breaks I would try to listen in. Anyways, once I got to Gallagher I already knew whom you were but they weren't trying to capture you yet.

"The summer after the exchange Joe pulled me aside and told me the truth, what they were really about. After your dad was caught they had stopped trusting him as much, though they didn't try to eliminate him either. He didn't come to the meetings anymore; he was just kind of there. But after Boston he knew that he could never risk showing his face again. He had the protection of the CIA so they didn't try to target him; he wasn't worth the risk, especially since he would rather die than tell them anything, if he even knows anything of importance to them.

"I tried to ignore what they were about for awhile but it didn't work. Every time there was a meeting, Joe's words would come back to me. My mom had me come to Boston, as you know I guess, but I swear I didn't know what they were going to do. After that she started encouraging me to sit in on a few meetings and get to know the members better. I started getting more information and found out that you were the real target. I brought back as much information to Joe as I could without them realizing what I was doing. In the end it wasn't really a conscious choice, it just kind of happened. And soon I got in to deep for going back to even be an option."

"Have you ever though about going back. Honestly. Don't answer with the stupid 'no I'm fighting for the good side, that's all that matters' bullshit." He studied her for a minute, as though trying to decide what the right thing to tell her was. Where to draw the line between honesty and stupidity.

"Yes," he finally answered. "I guess I did. I teetered on the edge for awhile but everyday my hatred for my mom increased and every time they would try to go after you or you would do something stupid—"

"Hey!" Cam interjected.

"I knew that in the end I would never be able to really work for them. And then they caught me helping you and I was on the run. I couldn't go back there no matter what, and strangely, or not so strangely, I didn't miss it at all. It was kind of a relief to know that I know longer had to stand around and try to act like I agreed with everything they were saying." She nodded and then gave him a quick kiss.

"You don't always have to act so tough you know. Everyone has a past, everyone has skeletons they don't want to talk about."

"Everyone has moms who help run organizations that threaten national security, are trying to kidnap the girl their in love with, and has turned her back on everything she had been brought up to believe?" he asked with a smirk though it wavered slightly when he realized what he had said. He looked at Cam, as though to see whether she had noticed but she gave no indication that she had.

"Well no," she admitted instead. "But my parents have threatened national security in many countries, just not this one. And besides, lots of people do turn their backs on what they were raised to believe. Look at Katy Perry, super religious family yet she grew up to sing about kissing a girl. Look at you. It's not always a bad thing, your mom's choice just happened to do more harm than good." Zach stared at her for another minute and then stood up, forcing her up to.

"Yeah, well, we should probably get to bed. We'll want to be out before anyone too scary wakes up tomorrow." Cam looked at the two beds uneasily but nodded anyways.

"Alright," she agreed, dusting her pink sweatpants off and walking over to the bed where she pushed back the comforter looking determined. _I can do this,_ she told herself but couldn't actually make her body get into the bed.

"If you're waiting for the bed to runaway it's not going to happen," Zach smirked.

"Do you have a pen?" she asked, picking up the pad of paper on the coffee table. Zach passed her a black one and looked over her shoulder to see what she was doing, only to burst out laughing.

"What? This is how I make my decisions," she muttered defensively.

_Pro's and Con's to sleeping in the gross hotel bed._

_Con: I could get lice or something way worse._

_Pro: I may actually get some sleep._

_Con: I may not get sleep since I will be worried about what is in the bed._

_Pro: I'll stay warmer._

_Con: Lord knows what went on in that bed._

_Pro: Zach will be there and he loves me._

_Con: I don't know that the sheets were changed._

_Con: I could catch some kind of terrible disease and die._

She finished the list and handed it to Zach saying, "That's it. The con's win. I'll just stay awake tonight."

Zach took it and scanned it quickly, noting her last pro. His eyes stayed fixed on it longer than any of the others and Cam smiled, noticing it.

"I've slept in multiple beds like this one and have yet to catch any kind of disease that will kill me," he told her.

"That you know of. You could have some kind of deadly virus that you don't know about and will wind up dying any moment now."

Zach rolled his eyes saying, "Yeah right. Come on, you know you need sleep."

"I'm doing just fine," she insisted, crossing her arms.

"Fine, suit yourself," he told her and climbed into the bed, which was, despite all of Cammie's worries, clean. Of course Zach, having in fact stayed here before, knew this but he found it way to funny watching Cam's internal struggle to enlighten her that he knew, everyday from two to five, the hotel was completely shut down, and the old man would go from room to room getting the sheets off the beds and washing them before re-applying them. He also vacuumed each of the three floors once a week, which was really the best that he could do.

You see, the hotel had been open since the old man was a kid. His father had started it as a way to help the local kids. He had helped a lot of criminals as well but had been the kind of guy that was more concerned about the kids than the authorities. He made sure that the money was real, not so that he could make sure that he had money, but that he didn't accidentally use fake money, which would then wind up in an investigation and certainly close down his little business. The truth was, even if it had been fake money, he would have let them stay. Because, even though he didn't know his dad that well, he knew that his dad never would have turned away two cold teenagers, and he knew that, until the day he died, he would continue to carry on his dads business, even if it had been the cause for never really knowing him.

"Gallagher Girl, the sheets are clean, I swear," Zach told her after about five minutes. "I've seen him change them," he added when she looked unconvinced.

"Why should I believe you?" she asked, though there was a teasing look in her eye. Zach raised on eyebrow at her.

"You know why," he said, not breaking eye contact but not willing to say it either.

"No, I really don't," she told him, folding her arms across her chest.

"Just come lay down."

"Why?"

"Because, if you promise to try and sleep tonight I will let you pick the next hotel. But we'll probably have to skip out without paying."

"Deal," she said quickly and jumped into bed with him. He looked taken aback for a minute.

"You know there are two beds…" he told her.

"I agreed to try and sleep, not to sleep alone in a creepy hotel," she told him, still facing the wall instead of him. Zach laughed and kissed her temple.

"I love you Gallagher Girl." He missed her smile as she was still facing away from him but she had a straight faced when she twisted her neck to face him.

"Promise?" She asked, barely containing her smile. He nodded.

"Well, in that case, I suppose I love you too," she said with a grin and kissed him lightly before turning away again. "'Night Blackthorne Boy."

"Good night Cameron Morgan," he replied.

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**A/N: Endings a little lame, I know. I AM NOT CONTINUING THIS! ! ! IT IS ONLY A ONESHOT! ! ! ! ! ! NO IF, AND, OR BUT ABOUT IT! ONESHOT! ! ! Now that we have that cleared up. . .**

**Please review, criticism and corrections are appreciated. I'll edit and re-post in a few weeks. Probably. Maybe. We'll see. :D**


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